


Dont Say I Dont Know

by Books in the Blood (WholockHobbit88)



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Cemetery, Comforting Ryan, Halloween, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mixed Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, hand holding, pretty much shane is upset and ryan is great at comforting him, vulnerable shane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 09:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13362219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WholockHobbit88/pseuds/Books%20in%20the%20Blood
Summary: When Ryan suggests he and Shane visit a graveyard on Halloween it is all fun until Shane comes face to face with his own morality. Struck by the emptiness of his own disbelief, he doesn’t know to cope until Ryan reaches out to him. Shane knows he'll never believe in ghosts but he does believe in Ryan and how warm he is and how nice it is to be held by him.





	Dont Say I Dont Know

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so at this point I'm pretty much Buzzfeed Unsolved trash. Cant say I saw it coming but I'm not unhappy I'm here :) Here's our boys all cuddly and vulnerable; enjoy!

Let's go to a graveyard on Halloween night, you said…fucking great idea, Ryan. Honestly, I can't believe that you DID indeed come up with it. Practically 99% of the time I would be congratulating you on your bravery; normally you are running in the opposite direction of anything scary. And when I say 'scary' I mean like shadows or dolls or owl sounds that you try to pass off as ghost voices…so, the idea that you voluntarily want to go to a graveyard which I would think you would considered highly 'haunted' on one of the 'spookiest' nights of the year really did surprise me. I almost applauded you for it…I caught myself though so I sounded like my typical asshole self.

"A graveyard on Halloween? Wow…..really pulling out all the stops to find these 'ghosts'. Getting desperate?"

I laughed and sounded like such a standard dickhead bro I hated it but you just laughed and shrugged off my skepticism.

"I just thought it would be fun…..no cameras…..no show…just for fun" you said, puffing up a bit as if you wanted me to be proud of your bravery. I should have gave it to you….you're so obviously in need of approval and I don't find that desperate; I love it. But I'm a dick so I didn't say that.

"I'm guessing booze will be involved in this disaster?" I said instead.

You just shook your head as if you weren't surprised. "Yeah, sure, why not? If that's what you need to say yes" you said.

"I don't need anything to fortify me. I was just trying to make you feel better" I said.

We both joked about how we didn't need booze but of course that's how we started off the night. It started off so normal that I could not have guessed how it would have ended. In some typical sports bar with beers and burgers, surrounded by waitresses dressed like slutty nurses and witches I was far from thinking about graveyards and ghosts. In fact, I had almost forgot about it until you looked at me with THAT look…that look of fire you get in your dark eyes when you think about ghosts and demons and all that shit. It's like excitement mixed heavily with fear and a childlike curiosity; I've never seen anyone look like that but you.

"So…..you ready?" you asked me, a sly smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You're so completely excited that I can't even bear to bust your bubble this time. I wish I could get half as excited about one damn thing as you are about nearly everything.

"For what?" I ask bluntly, finishing off my beer and feeling totally and completely content.

"The graveyard….unless of course you don't want to….."You say, trying to look dark and mysterious; you do pretty damn well. If I didn't know you, I'd think you were really scary. But I do know you so I just laugh.

"Halloween is just as good as any night to prove to you that ghosts aren't real. Let's go" I tell you before throwing money down for the tab and casually walking out of the bar knowing without looking that you are trotting after me, looking for a sign of fear or really any emotion but you don't find it.

I'm not afraid…..I know you want desperately for me to be scared and I almost want to be just because you want it. But I'm not…you should know this by now. My don't- give -a -shit attitude isn't fake and you know that…..I don't believe in ghosts. I know when you die your body goes into the ground, is covered in dirt, and decays. Nothing else of you exists…..your soul or spirit doesn't roam the earth, reaching out to the still living…..all of what you are is under the dirt. That's all…..that's it…you're dead, gone, worm food…I'm not scared of going to the grave yard at night. The worst we could possibly encounter there is somebody doing witchcraft or satanic rituals or perverted couples fucking there or something and even that is a far, far stretch…And none of that is the least bit scary; I'd just fucking laugh.

The night is perfect for Halloween and all those goons who get scared just because it's October 31, a number on a calendar just like the other 364 days of the year. It's a full moon; I point this out to you because I know it'll freak you out. You're a little braver because of the booze and you roll your eyes at me and don't say anything but I see you get a cold chill because you twitch for two seconds even though it's not the least bit cold outside. It's positively balmy for October but you're chilled in just your t-shirt. But you still keep walking; you're not giving up.

It's a perfect aesthetic for Halloween; the full moon peeking out between the rolling clouds, slight cool breeze to break up the unseasonably warm weather. Because the moon's so bright you can actually see the headstones enough to read some of their inscriptions. To fuck with you, I read out an inscription and then call out for the spirit of that dead person to come talk to us. It's really rude and I'm just lucky no one else is crazy enough to be there that night to call me out for being so damn disrespectful. To be fair, I only do it with the oldest ones. These poor bastards have all been dead a hundred years.

You tell me off for calling out to the dead, saying it's rude and then as time goes on, actually admitting you're afraid of the spirits actually responding but I can tell for once you actually are enjoying it. Don't get me wrong, you're still scared; but it's different without the cameras. It really isn't that different; we're still roaming around a 'haunted' place at night but without other people around, without cameras recording us, knowing thousands of people aren't going to watch and dissect these moments makes it better.

Eventually, the clouds pass over and cover that brilliantly bright moon, casting the cemetery in darkness. "Oh boy, the creepiness level really just kicked in" I say with a laugh, noting your face go into shadow and get more uneasy. "Better get out your holy water"

"I don't have holy water on me" you say, rolling your eyes heavily but you paused too long, waited too long…you DO have holy water on you. I'm surprised; it's been awhile since you relied on it. You're even taunting ghosts and demons sometimes these days; I couldn't believe how you acted on the Goatman's Bridge. I think maybe I'm rubbing off on you a little; every once in a while you get a moment of bravery where you say fuck you to a ghost. But then you jump at some imaginary noise and I know you're just the same scared Ryan Bergara I've always known.

"Yes you do! You do have holy water on you! I can tell you're lying!" I say gleefully, walking backwards through the mushy, spongy grass of this poorly kept graveyard just so I can see your face better.

I can always tell when you're lying; you're terrible at lying. You're too open; you're transparent. This isn't a bad thing; in this world where everyone fucking lies about everything it's really refreshing to be with someone I know isn't lying to me all the time. You're too good; you get guilt when you lie. I can see your color change, your voice crack a bit, diverting your eyes…..all signs you're lying. When I call you out you fold like a cheap tent.

"Okay, fine! I do have holy water on me but come on, it's Halloween! There are a lot of demented fucks out there doing all kinds of weird shit to conjure demons tonight. And you know how much I hate demons" you tell me, looking embarrassed but puffing up a bit like you do when you try to get me to see your point of view. Boy, I am glad I made sure I was watching you for this one.

"WHERE do you have it HIDDEN?" I ask, now laughing so much tears come to my eyes. I point at you. "There's no holy water gun, no water bottle…what? Do you have a little flask of it hidden in your pocket? Do I even WANT to know? Do I-"

I was having a real great time…..I was real pleased with myself. I was really yucking it like a dickhead. I guess I deserved what came next; I was too busy making fun of you, not paying attention to where I was going so I slipped on all that spongy, muddy grass and fell…

Right into fucking grave…

Poetic justice.

It was totally harmless; it was just an open hole for a funeral tomorrow no doubt, there wasn't a body in it or anything like that of course. If it had happened to you I would have probably laughed my ass off but it didn't happen to you. It happened to me and it was definitely not funny.

One moment I was laughing at you, focused totally on your goofy face and the next, my world was spinning dizzily around me before I fell so hard on my back all the wind was knocked out of me. My head hit the ground so hard it bounced off, making me dizzy and disoriented. For a few terrible seconds, I struggled to breathe in, my back stabbing with that horrible sensation of losing all the air out of my lungs. I feel something rain down on my face, sprinkling down like dust and my vision is still off so I don't know what it is. My head is splitting with pain and I think if I just close my eyes a moment….

I must have actually passed out for a moment because the next thing I know I feel cold…..so fucking cold. Not like a chilly wind is passing through kind of freezing cold…..the kind of cold that sinks into your bone. I hear you calling me.

"Shane! Shane! Are you okay?"

But it sounds like you're underwater; I feel like I'm underwater. My chest hurts with need for air and when I finally can take in a gasping breath I suck something into my lungs that makes me cough and sputter. It tastes gross….mineral and grainy and…

Dirt…it's definitely dirt. I'm in a fucking grave breathing in dirt.

My eyes spring open and I try to hop up but everything hurts and I can't make my body obey. My vision spins when I open my eyes like I'm totally wasted and thank god it stops after about thirty seconds. I manage to sit up and brush off the dirt that fell down on top of me when I stumbled in here.

It's just a hole…..it's just dirt…

But of course, it really isn't. The ground is soft and springy and I can't help but wonder if there is a body right beside me or god forbid underneath me…and I'm suddenly so cold it feels like I'll never be warm again. I feel empty, cold…nothingness. I begin to wonder if those damn dementor things from Harry Potter are real because I really do feel as if I will never be cheerful again.

"I know when you die your body goes into the ground, is covered in dirt and decays. Nothing else of you exists…..your soul or spirit doesn't roam the earth, reaching out to the still living…..all of what you are is under the dirt. That's all…..that's it…you're dead, gone, worm food…"

My own words, my own thoughts from earlier echo in my head, haunting me.

"Shane!"

Your words snap me out of my daze and I look up at you. You're peering down over the edge of the grave, your face drawn with worry. See what I mean? You really are good; you don't look like you even want to laugh at me even though I would laugh at you. You just look worried.

"I'm…..I'm…..okay" I say, getting clumsily to my feet, hating how deep this pit feels. I try to claw my way out and it's harder than it looks; six feet down my ass. I might as well be climbing a prison wall.

Eventually, with your help pulling as I jump, I get out of the hole; I should never make fun of you for being small or weak because I'd still be there without you.

Everything hurts when I stand up and try to get my bearings. And the cold…..the fucking cold is unbearable. I begin to shake and I feel like a fog that could just blow away. My heart is hammering inside my chest, my breath is hard to get and I feel like I'm going to shake myself apart. We've slept in rooms where people have been murdered, walked through catacombs, ran through asylums at night and this is the time I'm going to lose my shit?

But then I look at you and I don't…somehow. I look at you and can manage to hold myself together. Your face is white as can be, not a spec of blood in it, eyes wide and afraid. I'm scared and you can see it…you're scared because I'm scared and that never happens.

"Are you okay? You hit your head pretty damn hard. You were out for like two minutes. I don't know if you were evening breathing!" you say, your voice getting shriller and more panicked by the second.

Was I? The fact that I don't know is terrifying. The realization that I came that close to dying in a freshly dug grave undoes me. I begin to shiver so hard that it actually hurts. I can't look at you now; you held me together because I wanted to spare you fear but I haven't done that and I can feel the pressure behind my eyes telling me if I keep looking at you, I'll really actually lose it.

"I'm fine….I'm fine…..I'm fine" I whisper it like a mantra out of cold lips as if can make it true. I try to crack a joke, even a smile…try to act like myself at all and come up short.

"Come on, man….let's get out of here" you say with a shaky voice. As much as I know you, you also know me. You know I'm not okay…I'm not selling it all.

The walk to the car feels like it takes forever and it probably does; I'm walking like a zombie. I'm so cold I feel like if I move too fast my bones might just shatter apart; it's insane to me that only 45 minutes ago I was thinking how warm it was and laughing at your cold chill. My lips feel so cold it surprises me I can't see my breath; I feel like I'm exuding cold out of my pores.

But you're warm…..I can feel your body heat like a radiating cloud around you. I feel desperately like I want to throw myself on your body, wrap myself in it just to get warm. Maybe I DID die…maybe I am a zombie and I have to feast on regular, warm, believing humans like you to ever feel warm again. I'm dazed and confused but even I know that zombies are bullshit. I'm still human even though I don't feel properly human.

It takes me totally by surprise when I feel your fingers reach out and graze my hand before tentatively wrapping themselves around my own. You've only held my hand one other time and that was in the Sallie House. The cameras didn't catch that bit; it was after you unabashedly told me you were scooting closer to me while we were trying to sleep. When you grabbed my hand I reflexively pulled away a bit and laughed, asking you what you were doing. "Shut up Shane…..just let me hold your hand" you had said. It sounded funny and I laughed but I knew you were terrified so I let you hold my hand. You were absolutely scared shitless and I knew you wouldn't have done it otherwise and I really didn't mind. So that's how I KNOW how much I scared you tonight; did I look that dead to you? Did you stand there for two terrified minutes, begging me to wake and I just lay there like a corpse? Your fear, so raw and deep and real makes me more scared. Look at us two…..we're just a circle of fear, feeding into each other.

"Just…..just don't say anything…"you say in a shaky voice. It's the first time either of us has spoken since leaving the grave. You're talking about your holding my hand. As if I COULD make a joke at a time like this…My hand is shaking but I make it close around yours tighter.

As much as I didn't mind you holding my hand in the Sallie House right now it feels like a fucking LIFELINE…my hand is so cold it must feel like touching a corpse to you and if I was normal right now I'd make a joke about you and dead people but of course I can't nor do I want to. You feel like fire; how appropriate is that. You are fire and I've always been ice. You're vibrant and full and so alive; you're always on fire for something. I'm dead inside; cold, hard, unfeeling. That's always been true but I feel it more now.

Your skin is so hot and warm…..like drinking hot chocolate after playing in the snow. I can feel the heat seep into my skin and renew me. I don't want to let go…..I only let go reluctantly when we get to the car and you have to drive. I feel the loss immediately…my body begins to shake and the cold feels like it seeps into my inner being. I'd say it was sinking into my soul if I believed in souls.

You're driving reckless, I can tell. You're way over the speed limit, gunning the car when the light turns yellow when you'd normally stop. I'm cranking up the heat to full blast.

"Are you really that cold?" you ask. You've got sweat on your brow from all the heat and I can see the concern in your eyes. I'm still cold.

"Fucking freezing….."is all I manage to say. You speed up a bit and say, "Maybe we should go to a hospital…..you might have a concussion or something."

"I'm fine….."I say again and make you believe it because I don't need a doctor. But I'm not okay.

Long minutes drag on…the silence is almost unbearable but there isn't anything to say.

"Shane?" You break the silence eventually, tentatively. You're not looking at me, you're watching the road but I know you'd rather be looking at me to check I'm really okay.

"Yeah?" I say. I'm so tired every word feels like it weighs a ton.

"You can…..you know you can talk to me. If you need to talk about something"

It's so sincere and I know you really mean it. I really could tell you anything and it would be okay. I want to…but I can't. I don't even know how to say what all I need to say. I hate telling you no because you mean it so much.

"I know" I say and leave it there. You don't push me and we're silent all the way to the hotel.

I can't tell you how I feel because I don't really know. I'd love to tell you that tonight made some kind of believer out of me. I'd love to tell you that I hit my head and saw Jesus or that when I was in that grave I felt ghosts grab me. But I can't…because tonight didn't make a believer out of me. I wish it did. I've always taken solace in my disbelief; I loved not being affected the way you are at every location we go to. Imagine being that terrified all the time; I thought, I'd hate that. I've always been glad that I didn't believe because I'd always be scared of these places when I simply got to enjoy them. I never wanted to have to live a certain way, think a certain way…I wanted to be the master of fate. It never scared me that nothing came after this life.

It scared me tonight.

It is so stupid….I should be more afraid from how close I came to being seriously hurt but I'm more scared of the clawing sensation of lying in that grave…of feeling the cold and the dark and the loneliness and knowing for sure one day someone will put me in one of those holes and cover me up with dirt and leave me there forever.

And that's it….that's all there is. I don't find comfort in it…..it just feels so fucking empty. I feel empty…..the loneliness and emptiness of it makes me shiver more and when I think of all that cold dirt it's almost like I can taste it in my mouth again and I can't breathe.

There's no way to tell you any of this; it sounds crazy. And you, so filled with belief in so many things, could not possibly begin to understand.

We finally get to the hotel and somehow I make my way to our room, for once following you around like a puppy. The one thing I do feel is thankful that we've already shot the footage for this week's episode because I don't think I could get up tomorrow and smile and make jokes and carry on like I'm okay when I'm not.

I'm in a daze…..time passes in snatches around me. One moment I'm in the hallway while you open the door with our key and the next you've handed me my pajamas and I'm in the bathroom. You tell me to change and get cleaned up; you can tell I'm out of it.

"Shane? Can you hear me?" you ask with concern. I nod, looking at the floor. You get forceful with me which hardly ever happens but it's always deserved and I get some kind of satisfaction out of it.

"Look at me, Shane. You hear me? I said look at me. Look at my eyes so I can tell if you're really in there" you say.

I don't want to look into your eyes because you'll see too much but I obey you. You're so short and though I have to look down at you I feel small. And it's worse than I imagined. You are petrified and for once it's not ghosts or demons that put that look there. It's me…

But you recover quickly; you smile uneasily and try to be bracing. "Okay then…..still with me. Good….." you say, "Listen, change your clothes, clean yourself up and we'll go to bed. We'll be okay in the morning. You'll be okay"

I smile at you and say "Okay" really wanting to believe sleep will erase all of this. Except, right now, I'm afraid to sleep. I haven't been afraid of the dark since I was almost too young to remember but tonight I'm afraid of the sleep and the dark and the loneliness.

You shut the bathroom door and I'm left alone. I do what you tell me, going through the motions. There is something comforting in not thinking and just doing what I'm told to do. I'm almost calm until I see my clothes lying in a heap on the floor, dirt littering the white tiles. I'm out of there quick.

When I walk out of the bathroom you're already in your sweatpants and crouching at the mini fridge popping open the insanely overpriced miniature whiskey bottles and I can't even muster the strength to tell you you don't have to do that. Good thing too; I know you'd do it anyway. I begin to walk toward you and you sense my presence and turn around.

"Go sit down….I'll bring it to you" you order me and I do it; again, something is easy. I climb under the covers of my bed, propped up against the headboard. The duvet is thick but I'm still shivering.

It's so quiet but for once it's okay; the mask of calm you had when you left me in the bathroom seems to be genuine calm now. You move around the room attending me on quiet feet, almost as if you're floating so as to be quiet and calm for me. Maybe you find as much comfort in taking care me as I do in being take care of. All I know is I'm grateful because every time I try to lift my arms or legs they feel like they are made of lead.

You sit on the edge of the bed next to me and give me ibuprofen and make me take it; I hope it takes even in a little dent out of the thudding pain in my head and back. You make me drink the little bottles of whiskey and won't take one when I try to push it toward you even though I know you could use a shot after all this too.

"Maybe that'll put some fire in your bones" you tell me as I bite back the burning of the whiskey, a smile on your face. You're trying to make me better and that in itself is medicine. But the whiskey doesn't put any fire in me; it burns my throat but ends there. It doesn't warm me up, just makes my head spin a bit more and really I've enough of that sensation already. The only thing that had made me feel any warmth was when you took my hand in the cemetery. I realize that I want to hold your hand now but I know I'm not brave enough to try. The whiskey isn't the fire; YOU are. When I held your hand or was smashed up against you in some cellar or closet or when we had to sleep in a tiny bed together you're always burning. That aliveness you have can't be contained.

I don't reach for your hand and you don't reach for mine. I collapse against the pillows in fatigue and you pull them up to my chin; I'm still chilled to the bone but the sensation of you pushing the covers down on me is nice. You go to turn off the lamp and I feel an irrational fear in my chest; it feels like an iron fist is closing around my heart. The walls seem to close in around me at the thought of the darkness and for one wild moment I think of asking you to keep the light on. But I don't; it would be too embarrassing. I can't fathom the sound of my voice telling you I'm afraid of the dark right now.

So, you turn off the light and the room is plunged into darkness. I immediately feel colder; that pressing feeling in my chest gets worse. You get off the bed and take your warmth with you and it feels desperately cold and lonely. I see your outline in the shadows and though you're right there it feels like you're forever away. You throw off your t-shirt and crawl into your own bed, your warmth trapped under the covers. I wish we were back at the Lizzie Borden house or the Queen Mary or the Sallie House just because it would mean I could sleep with your warmth beside me and I wouldn't feel so damn COLD and empty…

"If you need anything…..wake me up okay?" you call out through the quiet of the room. There's a little hint of the worry there and I know you'll lie awake for a while, worrying about me so you'll take longer to sleep than normal.

"Okay" I tell you even though I have no intention of waking you up from a much needed sleep. I know you can't stop my tortured mind.

I'm tired, so tired but I can't sleep. The idea of sleep keeps reminding me of passing out and waking up in that grave…..the idea of the cold and the emptiness feels desperately oppressive. Why do I feel so completely empty? Nothing has really changed at all; not my beliefs, not my relationships or my life in any way. Even my health isn't that changed other than a hell of a knot on the back of my head. So why does it feel empty when nothing has changed?

Maybe I WANT it to change….I lie in that dark, achingly quiet room, squinting at the curtains because a tiny sliver of light is managing to break through from the street lights. I hear the sound of your heavy breathing but I can't tell if you're already asleep or just nearly there.

I've been lonely before but somehow this is just MORE…it's like the place inside my cold heart that I tuck all that shit away was cracked open when I hit that ground and realized…..I'm not the superior one for not believing in ghosts or angels or any of that. You DO believe in that stuff and though it makes you terrified, you still get a sense of peace from it. What would it be like to know, even when I was this alone, that I really wasn't alone? What would it be like to imagine that there were angels watching over me, that there were ghosts to communicate with…to know you truly are never alone?

I close my eyes and try to imagine it. I try what I know I can't do; get out of my head. I even admitted that on camera once though I don't know what possessed me to admit it; my mind is a prison. I can't escape from it no matter how hard I try. I try to see or feel or hear anything in the quiet…..I try to find a sign something is real but there's nothing there. There are voices of people in the hallway, the ticking of a clock, cars on the street…the sounds of life and monotony but nothing more. I ache…

I curl up inside the blankets as much as I can, trying and failing to get warm. I feel that burning feeling behind my eyes I had in the graveyard and of course it means I'm going to fucking cry which is ridiculous. I didn't cry then because you were looking at me scared shitless. But now there's no one to see me and I can't think of why I shouldn't do it.

I smash my face into the pillow and give in to that burning ache. Maybe I just NEED to cry and some of this shit will go away. My chest feels like its caving in, crushing everything inside as I muffle a sob into my pillow so you don't ever hear it because wouldn't that be fucking embarrassing? It doesn't bring relief…..my eyes burn but don't really produce any tears and really just my chest wracks painfully. Somehow, in the back of mind I still can't properly let go; even now some part of my brain is still berating me for being so weak. It's far from a releasing cry which is really a shame because crying myself to sleep is about all I could hope for at this point even though that's pathetic.

"Shane?"

I suck spit and snot back into my throat because I stop breathing so fast at the sound of your voice. My face is still buried in the pillow and I don't want to look at you; I know I'll see your sympathy because I can already hear it in your voice. You'd never say it out loud, you're too kind for that, but I know you must have heard me.

"Shane? Are you okay?"

I want to pretend I'm asleep but we both know I'm not and I can't ignore you even though I don't know what to say. As I wipe a hand across my wet face as covertly as I can and roll over to look at you, my mind screams out to tell you I'm fine. I kept saying it over and over again earlier even when I wasn't and I know you won't call me out if I say it. You'll say okay even though you know I'm lying and we can both go back to pretending to be asleep.

But when I roll over and see you, I know I can't do it. You're sitting up in bed, squinting at me through the darkness, concern etched on your face. You're so transparent; I can always tell how you feel. And right now you feel terrible. You're worried….you're always worried about me. Whether it's because I'm driving like a maniac or drinking too much or shouting sexual slurs at a demon you always worry about me. You're always going to be worried about me whether I say I'm okay or not. And that realization sinks into my bones and makes me feel so tired I could collapse. I realize finally how absolutely exhausting it is to pretend you're okay when you're really not.

And I just can't anymore…

You probably are getting more worried by my not answering and just staring at you; I can see your eyes widen in the dark and your voice is more insistent when you say, "Can you hear me? Are….you….okay?"

And I'm not okay…for once I finally let it down. I don't plaster a fake smile on my face or make some dumb joke. For once…I just give in. My face falls, tired and sad, and of course this is the time my eyes deicide they want to properly tear up.

"No….."I whisper and I look at you even though it's hard to do, so hard to do. "No….I'm not okay. I'm really not okay"

Your eyes get big at my admission like you're going to cry too; I've never not been alright. When you were shitting yourself at the Sallie House, I was taunting demons on a pentagram. When you nearly had a heart attack over seeing your name plastered across a hospital wall, I was making pot jokes. While you didn't even want to step onto Goat Man's Bridge, I gladly danced on it and called the demon a fuck. I'm ALWAYS okay and I think you're going to lose it because now I'm not and maybe that means your universe is spiraling out of control. I'm not blind; I know I'm your anchor and that's okay. I like being your anchor; I like being the one that keeps your universe right.

But you don't cry and you don't let your mind melt. You look sad but you're not out of control about it. You look right at me, only after you've pretended to look away when I wiped my eyes, and you just simply say, "Me neither….."

You're not okay either. I'm not dead but I can see in your mind you still keep thinking about when I was. You need something as much as I do but what it is I don't know.

Silence drags on for what feels like forever; I'm glad you're not laughing at me or judging me or even dismissing me…..but I don't know what to say or do. You do, though; I call you idiot or dumbass a lot but there are plenty of things you're smarter about than me.

You're not afraid to admit how you feel; I always know how you feel and you're not afraid to be vulnerable either. You weren't afraid to take my hand in the Sallie House or the cemetery because you weren't afraid to admit you needed something most people wouldn't dare admit. Surely I wouldn't have been able to admit, ever, I needed to hold your hand. I'm not that brave….

Maybe we're there, though. Maybe you're not afraid because you know I'm not going to push you away and that even when I laugh, I don't mean it.

Because when we can't say anything, you just push back the covers of your bed and scoot over enough to leave a Shane-sized spot next to you in bed. Even now, I'm a little afraid to go over there, a little afraid to admit I need you when I never admit to needing anything. But I see the sadness and open vulnerability in your eyes and I remember the feeling of your warmth when you held my hand and I know I'm tired of being cold and empty.

It's a bit awkward at first; a scrambling of limbs and sheets and trying to get comfortable. This is not the first time we've ever slept in the same bed but all of those times were because there was only one bed or we were huddled on the ground together for warmth in some abandoned hell hole. This is very different; I'm very aware of my legs being close to yours and conscious of where I put my arms. I'm aware of your chest being bare and even more aware that that's the place my face naturally finds itself nestling. It's awkward and different and strange at first; it's us not saying it and not looking at each other properly in the dark. But when we settle down it is…..perfect…..

For the first time all night I finally feel properly warm. The cold that had felt like it was nestled in my bones and heart and being melts off against your fire. If I ever had to describe you in one word, that's what I'd use; fire. Ryan Bergara…..fire. Fire in your words, fire in your spirit and apparently fire in your body. I've always been surprised sleeping outside or in an abandoned building next to you at how warm you were but I never properly appreciated it until right this moment. You're fire and I'm ice…..total opposites and yet you know which one always wins in the end. And it ain't ice…

You throw the covers over us and your hand hovers uncertainly for a minute above me before coming to rest draped around my back. My face has found the spot on your chest where your heart is and I focus on it because it feels good to hear something so vibrant and alive. Your heart is racing, beating quick and fast like a bird's and I wonder if you're nervous or if your heart is always like you are, always going too fast.

My eyes still feel wet but when I close them this time, nothing else comes out. This time, you scoot closer to me in bed without having to ask or tell me and I don't feel like crying anymore. My chest doesn't hurt, my bones aren't cold, my mind is not racing…..for once, my mind is as still as my body. I feel your heat soak into me from where your hand is on my back, run all through my body and into my toes. A sigh of air escapes my mouth before I can stop it; I realize for once, for the first time in too long to count, I feel CALM. I'd almost forgotten what this felt like. Not drunk calm or sleepy calm but actual proper, totally satisfied calm.

Absolutely nothing has changed about me since I was lying alone in my own bed. I still don't believe; I'm still afraid to think of dying. I'm still an arrogant asshole covering up an empty hole. There isn't any reason why five minutes ago I felt like I wanted to die because everything was so meaningless and why now I feel calm and complete. There's no reason in ME.

The reason is YOU…..

I'm not going to get over analytical about it right now because I'm too tired and if I do I won't enjoy this and I WANT to enjoy this. I can be an over thinker tomorrow and surely I will. But right now I'm not going to try and analyze why just listening to your heart (which is much slower now) and feeling your heat around me in this blanket burrito and the barely touch of your hand makes me feel so calm. I'm not going to reason why I NEED you so much and why I want you to need me as much; why I'm glad you were brave enough to make me put my guard down. I'm not going to think about why I don't want to need anyone but I KNOW I need you. I'll do all that tomorrow.

Tonight, I simply close my eyes and be the one to move closer to you for a change.

And I just fall…I just let myself need you.

And it's fucking amazing….

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like check me out on Tumblr at silverfoxinapolice box. I'd love to meet some buzzfeed fans!


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